


Sodium Light

by WhiskeySoda



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Clone Jeongin, District 9 AU, Extended AU, I'm back from jail, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Infidelity, Jealousy, M/M, Multiple Jeongins, Past Sexual Abuse, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Selfcest, can't stop won't stop, implied that woojin is about to do something shady
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24797197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskeySoda/pseuds/WhiskeySoda
Summary: "Jisung, will you believe me?"If he could think of anything better than pulling up the hem of his shirt and touching bare skin, he’d do it, but he can’t. And maybe that’s for the best isn’t it? This is what Jeongin knows best, and so this is what Jeongin wants. Sex is fear, and sex is comfort. Jeongin is afraid, and Jeongin wants comfort. ”Of course.”
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Yang Jeongin | I.N, Kim Woojin/Yang Jeongin | I.N
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	Sodium Light

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the lack of content over the past year. I was in horny prison. I will now continue to update my AU that isn't that bad except for the parts that are. 
> 
> This will make more sense if you've read "Crowns of Lavender", "Charm Bracelet", and "Speak and Spell" but if you're just here for the blowjob, that should be fine too.

Jisung is the last to  _ get  _ an I.N. unit. He hates that word, but like...what else would he call it?  _ Imprinting?  _ That somehow sounds scummier. Cause you can  _ get  _ a boyfriend. Jisung’s got plenty of ‘em, Chan, and Changbin, and Minho, and maybe Felix, but he hasn’t really  _ asked _ . Boyfriends don’t  _ imprint.  _ Jisung gets a boyfriend who happens to he an I.N. unit. Yeah. 

But if he’s learned anything from his friends, from Woojin who pulled First out of an icy bath tub of an uptown penthouse. From Minho who had Third show up in the middle of the night on his doorstep covered in blood. From Woojin who had second show up in the grainy security camera feed. From Hyunjin, who took Fifth with him from his parents’ house. From Woojin, who found fourth in a thick metal box, pure and un-imprinted. If he’s learned anything from his friends, you don’t go looking...

So, in the humid, polluted, rice fields of old Namwon, Jisung gets an I.N. unit. 

He steals him really. 

That’s not what makes their story remarkable. Everyone’s I.N. unit is stolen. 

If he looks at the time on his communicator, he knows that he isn’t going to like what he sees. It’s so late that the climate control has kicked off. That can only happen in the few scant hours of the morning, before the smog rises high and the sun bakes out chemicals from the ground.  Jisung looks at the time anyway, and sees that it’s 4:42 in the morning. It’s alright though, because looking at the accusatory white numbers makes him a little less angry than looking at the unfamiliar ceiling. This base is in the middle of nowhere, he never wanted the Namwon job. 

Can’t help but feel like Chan and Changbin are punishing him for botching the Gangbuk job, even though he  _ knows  _ that isn’t true. First of all, there’s no way any of them ever saw any of that shit going sideways. Not even Chan. Second of all, he fucking volunteered for the job because in his body is concentrated, just the right amount of anxiety, bravado, and an immunity to the poison air here. Because in the past, he breathed in a high concentration of those same heavy metals and toxic chemicals and some how lived. 

So he was the best man for the job, even if it put him out in the middle of nowhere. 

Jisung’s brooding is interrupted by the soft sound of a stifled moan through the air vents. 

And then another, sharper now. The kind that signifies loss of control. The kind that Jisung himself chases from other people indefinitely, the kind that makes him go harder, caress softer. 

Except right now, its for someone else. “Woo-oojin.” 

At least he’s not out in the middle of fucking nowhere alone. Yeah, that’s the thought that he has while he listens to Woojin fuck Jeongin. Which one? All of them. For the second? Third time? How do you even count when every fuck is an orgy? 

It’s like this. Jisung earned his immunity to the poison air by sweet talking death on a mission. I.N. units are made a certain way. Their modified bodies and copy paste coded genetics let them laugh and sing and shout out in the poison air, completely immune to it. 

So they make a natural choice for his team on the mission. 

And, you can’t have a team of I.N. Units without Woojin. 

It’s kind of weird, how they all cling to him. Like, even the ones that imprint on the others seem drawn to him.

“Ah--I’m close, I’m--” 

Fuck this. 

Jisung rolls out of bed, tugs on a worn pair of cotton pants, and heads for the vaulted security door. Maybe he can get something done before it gets too hot, and then come back inside and sleep off the blistering afternoon. 

Wishful thinking. 

“What the fuck?” Jisung sees a lanky frame in the shadows, but doesn’t process. Goes straight into defensive mode with a push and a shove that he throws his whole body into. 

Too bad all that effort doesn’t even make the assailant waiver. In the scuffle, strong hands pin his arms above his head against the wall and holds him firm. 

“Jeongin?” Jisung pants with labored breaths. 

What the fuck is he doing out there, especially if they’re having an orgy in there? 

Jeongin’s narrow eyes dilate, telescoping back to normal size. “Han.” His flat expression shifts into a smile. “Sungie. Couldn’t sleep either huh?”

“Not tonight,” taking in the subtleness of his features, his clothes, and his mannerisms, it’s clear now that he speaks to First. And that makes it even weirder. They all love Woojin, but First is special. He’s like, the leader of the clone harem, or something like that. 

Jeongin still holds him with a bruising grasp. 

It’s like this. I.N. Units are normal, except for when they’re not. Jeongin loves to belt out songs in the shower, tease Changbin relentlessly, gets overexcited whenever Felix cooks them something good. Normal, just like the rest of them. Normal, except for the part where he can be out in the poison air all day and never get sick. Normal, except when he knocks the wind out of someone with a crushing blow. 

So Jisung needs them, and Jisung is kind of like them. 

“Sorry.” It’s still quite dark outside, only the slightest line of indigo interrupts the black ink of the night’s sky. But in that faint light that only hinted of daybreak, he can see how long Jeongin’s lashes are even when he looks down at him in a strange display of power and simultaneous deference.

“It’s fine. I know that it happens sometimes.” 

They’ve all had their Jeongin moments. Too quick a movement, a misspoken trigger phrase, and something just  _ snaps.  _ Sometimes the end result is an icy stare, sometimes it’s a warning, shouted in a litany of fingerprint shaped bruises...Not enough to cause any real harm, but enough to continuously drive the wedge back between them, remind them of what I.N. Units are capable of. 

So Jisung supposes that this is his Jeongin moment. 

He feels like because of these moments, little bursts that are out of Jeongin’s control, that he’s always trying to prove something about himself that goes against the very core of who he is. That he isn't a weapon, or dangerous. He  _ is undeniably _ those things, but he’s already proven that he'd never hurt them and so all of that overcompensation is meaningless. 

Maybe Jisung feels something similar.

“You wanna let me go?” 

“Oh, sorry,” Jeongin repeats himself and loosens his grasp on his wrist loosens...But he doesn’t break contact completely. 

Jisung slips his wrists out from under Jeongin and rubs at the rubbed raw, sensitive skin on the underside of his arm. “Why aren’t you uh--Inside?” His tone zigzags back and forth between crude and shy. “I mean, that sounds like the place to be.” 

Jeongin smiles in the way that only Jeongin can smile, his comically large eyes becoming wrinkled and small. It’s still dark outside, but Jisung can tell from the tone of his voice that he’s probably blushing. “Just not in the mood tonight, you know?” 

Something’s not right. 

The moon hangs low in the sky tonight, as if it’s just a gust of wind away from falling into the rice field. Jisung can taste the earthy smell of water and mud on his tongue along with the bitter taste of pollution. 

“Nah,” But it’s better to put on a face and pretend. That’s how you get to the bottom of things. “Can’t say that I do, but uh--” his smile is sheepish and freely given. “I didn’t exactly come out all the way out to the middle of nowhere with my four boyfriends.” 

“Ah-” Jeongin makes the kind of flustered noise that only comes from being embarrassed  _ and  _ annoyed, but unable to say anything because it’s true. 

But he means it when he says, “don’t worry about it. I’m around. You can come find me, you know.” Arched brow, curve of his smile, flirting is unconscious and automatic, even if just being out here gives him the heebie-jeebies. “When you’re not in the mood.” 

* * *

Okay, if he checks this co-axial  _ again  _ against the diagram that Changbin gave him, and it’s in the right place--it is! Then he can move on to sub-panel B, but he’d better just check that coaxial again, because he literally rebuilt this whole thing  _ yesterday  _ right after he and Jeongin met each other at sunrise . And then strangely  _ today  _ it was all fucked up again. Like, he can remember resealing the port and everything before going in for the night...Okay, so for sub-panel B, he needs to remove the transistor--Maybe he could get Woojin out here to check over all these diagrams.

Whatever it is, he really could use another set of eyes out here...Because he thinks he gets it--but he can  _ never  _ be too careful. Remove the transistor and replace it, and once it’s connected the antenna should work, which means tomorrow he can--

“You should still wear a mask,” Jeongin’s voice cuts through the constant cacophonous chatter that exists in his mind and draws it to one fine tuned point. 

Jeongin. W _hat the fuck is going on with Woojin and Jeongin?_

He doesn’t have to look upward and see that it’s First who speaks to him, because First is the only one who addresses him with that degree of familiarity. But when he does, Jisung sees an elastic band hangs off of his wrist, silver respirator dangling below. He offers it to Jisung with a smile. 

“Even if you think you’re immune, it can still damage your organs.” 

“Thanks mom,” Jisung takes a long pull from the water jug he’d brought out with him. Holds the mask in his hand and stares at the black rubber seal, but doesn’t yet pull it over his face. Instead of pressing the respirator over his face, he lets it dangle around his neck like a large talisman pendant. The chemicals in the air make it harder to breathe, but so does a respirator mask and he chooses one immediate discomfort over the threat of a distant other. 

Then, he offers the water to Jeongin as a trade. 

Jeongin takes the jug from him, but doesn’t drink. His eyes linger on the shining rim of the lid, and the lukewarm water inside. 

“Where’s dad?” Desperate to cut through the stifling heat, Jisung lifts his shirt up over his head. Then he dumps the rest of the water in the container across his face and his chest. The damp feeling of his pants getting soaked through doesn’t really matter so much. Because of the humidity, everything was soaked already. 

What matters is the feeling of Jeongin checking him out. He can feel the sharpness of his gaze even though his bangs are wet and covering his eyes. He has to wonder, what that really means.

While he pushes his hair away from his eyes, Jeongin breaks the stare and shrugs. “I think he’s watching the kids.” 

The further they go, the weirder the analogy gets. If Jeongin is checking him out, that means “mom” is checking him out. If the other Jeongins are the kids then that means they’re brothers. When Jeongin fucks the others, is that like incest? Or is it self-cest. Whatever. 

“I did give them a lot to do,” Jisung agrees. “Hey, can you help me with this panel? It’s really rusted and I can’t get the bolts undone.” 

“Sure thing.” Jisung doesn’t even bat an eye when Jeongin foregoes the screwdriver that he’d been using and knocks the bolt loose with the heel of his palm. Jeongin is normal, except for when he’s not. 

“Thanks man.” 

Without another task to do, Jeongin hefts himself upward into the rusted rungs of one of the many radio transmission towers that dot the abandoned base. His legs dangle freely as he looks out onto the rice field. Jisung gets back to work. 

“Jisung?” 

“Yeah.” 

“It smells so bad out here.” 

“Oh yeah, sorry, but you  _ know  _ what dairy does to me--” Crude, but it’s what he knows, and a cheap laugh has the same exchange rate as one that’s hard earned. 

“Ha-ha very funny Jisung.” 

“Seriously though, it comes from microbes in the water. When it goes stagnant like that.” 

“Ugh, I wanna think of a better smell. What’s your favorite smell.” 

“When a hot guy smells really musty I guess.” 

“You’re so gross.” 

“I don’t know. Uh, chocolate chip cookies in the oven? What about you?” From the corner of his eye, he can see Jeongin raises his arms above his head. He grabs onto the rusty bar over his head and slyly tries to smell his own armpit. “Honeysuckle I bet.” Jisung teases, because it’s no secret that Jeongin loves lavender, and weaves sprigs of it everywhere. 

“How did you know?” Jeongin responds with a laugh. 

“Just a guess.” Jeongin’s laugh is infectious, and so he does it too. “It’s not bad, especially with lavender.” 

Then silence slips its way back in between them. Jisung works. Jeongin stares at the clouds. “Jisung?” His voice has a heaviness to it again. 

“Yeah?” 

“What would you do if you thought that someone you cared about was in trouble, but you didn’t know how to help because if you asked, you’re pretty sure they’d get mad?” 

“Well--” That’s how you get to the bottom of things. Don’t ask, but listen. Wait until stories of,  _ someone _ or  _ my friend,  _ become  _ me.  _ Chan taught him that. It’s is the kind of thing that’s easily fucked up isn’t it? So he’s gotta be careful, think about what it is that he’s saying. 

Too bad he doesn’t even get the chance. 

“There you are.” Woojin emerges from among the rusted forest that surrounds them. The timing of the interruption is eerie as fuck. 

Muffled by the mask that he wears pressed over his face, he tells Jeongin, “I was looking for you.” 

“You and the others seemed to have everything under control.” 

“Exactly, they had it under control. That’s why I came looking for you.” 

Woojin’s respirator makes an obscene sticky squelch as he breaks the seal and pulls it off of his face. He comes to rest between Jeongin’s legs, and looks upward at him with an expression that is both wanting and questioning. 

They kiss, but Jisung tries not to look. There is no sense of real privacy between them. There’s too many, and they’re all too close. Whatever they do have is constructed, something that’s only made through politeness and averted eyes. Jisung does a good job of giving them privacy in that way, that is, until a low moan breaks in the thin space between puffy, dehydrated lips that part with a smack. 

It’s the kind of noise that’s too sharp given the circumstances, too quick given the lack of build up, too fake. 

It’s only confirmed when he looks away from the panel he’s working on, only to find that Jeongin’s staring at him with wide open eyes. 

“Woojin, the new coaxial I put on here yesterday was fucked up this morning. Did you catch anything on the security feed last night?” 

Woojin’s stiff posture mirrors Jeongin’s. He pulls away from First abruptly, and answers too quickly, “No, I didn’t. Are you sure you read the instructions properly?” 

* * *

It’s familiar really, when he returns from the shower and sees the outline of a lanky form in the shadow of his room. Familiar, but not quite expected, when the shadow moves, and he turns into a defensive position grabbing for the figure. 

Jarring, when strong hands envelop his wrists and make him feel small as he’s pinned to the wall with his arms above his head, but this too is begrudgingly familiar. 

“Jeongin we have got to stop meeting like this,” he says when he’s face to face with First Jeongin. With their chests pressed together like this, he can feel every rise and every fall of every breath, feel the adrenaline melt into the awkwardness of normal. 

“Sorry,” Jeongin lets go of his wrists immediately this time. “I’m just--” 

It’s only then that Jisung hears it again through the air vents. It’s quieter now, innocuous rustles and the pop of furniture that comes from use, but Jeongin’s expression explains it all. 

“Not in the mood.” But Jeongin’s expression seems to indicate anything but. Soft pink tongue parts his lips before he traps his lower between his teeth. 

The sensation of soft lips against his own only serves as a reminder to him of how chapped and dry his mouth feels. Makes him feel self conscious of the split skin, because when it gets dry he always picks at it, and when he picks at it, it only chafes more, but Jeongin doesn’t seem to care. 

Sure he’s just a little bit touch starved, already been out here two weeks with nothing more than his hand, but fuck-goddamn. It feels good. Jeongin laps at his mouth and Jisung lets him deepen the kiss. 

If he were a good leader, if he were like Chan or Changbin in any way at all, he’d ask questions. And he’s a good leader. He knows that he is. They wouldn’t let him lead a team out here alone if he wasn’t. “Jeongin, what’s going on?” 

"It’s been two years since I came to live with you all.” 

“Yeah, a really long time.” Jisung forces confidence into his voice, even though he can  _ feel  _ his dick twitch against Jeongin’s thigh. Jeongin’s thigh, which is wedged between his legs as Jeongin holds his wrists up high. 

“I um,” Jeongin’s voice cracks slightly. His tone is uncertain, like he wants to confess or something. When he finally regains his composure, he kind of does, even if it’s not in the way Jisung expects. “When you all were talking about what to do with me. “I heard your voice through the air vent that night. You spoke up for me. You agreed with Woojin.” 

“Yeah, I did.” And he can hear his own voice speak now, but it’s the voice that he uses when he talks to Chan and says things like, “Fuck yeah I can handle this.” It’s inflated with false confidence, and waivers right away. 

"Man, you cannot just be cryptic like that for the hell of it. Someone destroyed all the work that I did on the transistor yesterday." 

“I didn't do it Jisung." 

"Prove it." 

"I can't, I mean--not yet." 

"So this is what you wanted to talk about this afternoon?" Maybe it's obvious, but sometimes it's dangerous to just assume.

"Yeah," Jeongin releases his grasp on Jisung's wrist. His lower lip trembles, as if he were on the cusp of crying.

Jisung hates it, hates it so, so much when he's looking at what seems to be a crystal clear picture, but can't make out a damn thing. 

"Do you regret it?" Jeongin adds quickly, "speaking up for me." 

Of course he’s got a response in the back of his pocket. Something that’s honest and heartfelt, but comes off disingenuous in the too fast, over passionate response. Because he walks the line between wearing his heart on his sleeve and keeping it covered away and protected at all times. "No, it was the right thing to do." 

There's more to be said there. More questions to ask. 

But he never gets the chance. 

Because Jeongin’s kissing him again, and well, that’s far better than whatever it is that he really wanted to say. 

Like the poison air outside, Jeongin steals his breath away, so help him if he were ever to become immune to it. 

And when there’s a break, it exists only so that Jeongin can tell him more secrets against the hollow of his neck. Then, large hands move down his frame. Jeongin shifts, as if he’s about to sink to his knees, and Jisung  _ knows  _ what comes next...What could come next, if he weren’t so desperate to prove himself. 

“Jeongin, um,” 

Jeongin looks up at him. Through parted bangs, Jisung can more clearly see now that addictive mixture of power and deference in his expression. 

Maybe for the first time in his life. Ever. He says, “I don’t think I’m in the mood either.” Jisung knows it’s for the best, but Jeongin looks hurt when he says it. He hates it so much when doing the right thing hurts. 

When it hurts too much to keep looking at him, the scene of his room becomes clearer. The thin blanket that is supposed to cover his bed is tossed onto the floor. His clothes are scattered about there too. They won’t fit well on the bed, after all, Jeongin has grown so much in two years. 

There's something very, very wrong on the other side of the air vents, and he should do his best to protect First Jeongin from it. “But you don’t have to leave.” 

“Thank you.” 

* * *

Jisung wakes to the soft sound of Jeongin’s voice. It waivers, almost cracking at some notes, not because his voice is anything less than angelic, but because Jeongin’s voice is best when it’s like flood water, able to fill every available space in the room, loud. Right now he’s doing his best to stay quiet. 

“Fly me to the moon, and let me play, among the stars--” 

He can hear it through the vents again. Woojin and the other Jeongin’s fucking. 

“Let me see what spring is like on--” 

He can feel it, between the stifling heat of their bodies. He’s hard. 

“You have to tell me what’s going on with Woojin. That’s an order,” and his voice doesn’t even shake when he says it. He needs to know. He has to know. He can’t keep wanting without knowing. 

“Jisung,” long fingers thread through his hair, and it isn’t a surprise when they kiss once more. “Will you believe me?” 

It’s Jisung’s turn to do the kissing this time. It’s like he finally gets it. Whatever it is that Jeongin is about to say, he’s about to put his neck out. Big time. He’s sure there are other ways to reassure, to comfort, to make him feel secure. If he could think of anything better than pulling up the hem of his shirt and touching bare skin, he’d do it, but he can’t. And maybe that’s for the best isn’t it? This is what Jeongin knows best, and so this is what Jeongin wants. Sex is fear, and sex is comfort. Jeongin is afraid, and Jeongin wants comfort. ”Of course.” 

But he knows that he’s yet to truly prove himself. In that moment, he knows that Jeongin doesn’t quite trust him yet. 

Deft hands make short work of his clothing, not that he’d worn much to bed to begin with. It’s hot here, hotter still with Jeongin in bed with him. In his fitful sleep, he pitted out his shirt, and he could feel droplets of sweat drip down his body as they spoke. Now that he’s exposed, he feels an eerie chill, dry air against his damp skin, and what is it that his mother used to say? That when you felt a cold chill, it meant that someone was walking over your grave? 

This feeling is only amplified when Jeongin touches him skin to skin. Yet, it isn’t unpleasant. 

Jeongin scatters kisses in erratic patterns across his body for a long time. Some of them are so soft that they barely register as sensation. Sometimes his lips hover above his skin and his breath makes Jisung’s skin pique with gooseflesh only for Jeongin to kiss it back down again. Sometimes it’s hard and accompanied by teeth, hard enough to bruise. He takes his time traveling down Jisung’s body, and pauses just above the crest of his hips. 

Jeongin  hovers over him mouth pursed in sharp inhale and on the cusp of something amazing. He makes sure that their eyes are locked when he presses Jisung once again.  “Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

Without another word or breath of hesitation, Jeongin envelops Jisung in the ember warmth of his mouth. 

“ _ Fuck,”  _ spills out of his mouth just as he tangles his fingers into thick black hair. The desire to push Jeongin down is equal to the desire to pull him back and demand answers. Because it’s scary how good he is at this. Like Jisung’s had his cock sucked before and  _ god.  _

Jeongin is like caramel sauce on chocolate cake, sterling silver buttons on a leather jacket, the only way that he can describe Jeongin is decadent. 

He isn’t made aware that he’d said any of this out loud until Jeongin pulls off of him with a  _ pop _ and offers him a smile, “Jisung, of course I'm good. I was made for this.” 

There’s something dark there, in the implication of it all, but it’s lost on Jisung in the here and now. Buried under the sensory overload of the feeling of air against his damp cock, and the sight of it shining with spit and precum. In his peripheral vision, Jeongin’s smile.

It’s something that will come back to him in the middle of the night when he’s trying to sleep. In moments where he’ll have to make a decision. 

But for now, all he can do is rock greedily upward into Jeongin’s mouth. 

When he cums, its choked, and needy, and desperate. So good that it almost hurts. 

With a shout that can certainly be heard through the air vents. 

When they finish, it’s still dark in the room. When they speak again, natural light trickles inward and threatens him with something that he knows is grave. 

“You came all the way out here, to the middle of nowhere with limited contact and no backup. With four I.N. units and their master.” 

“Woojin isn’t your master. You’ve said so yourself. The fact that you’re here right now,” naked and in bed with him no less, “is proof of that.” 

"So, Woojin's in trouble?" 

"No, you are." Jeongin continues, "If something happened out here to you, they’d have to rely on Woojin’s word. Wouldn’t they?” Jeongin asks. 

In that moment it’s clear to Jisung what he means, even if he hasn’t yet brought himself to say it frankly. 

“I mean, the four of us. We wouldn’t speak out against Woojin right? How could we? He’s our master,” he repeats it again. 

There’s a thousand questions racing through his brain right now, many of which are concerned with how the fuck he’s going to get out of old Namwon alive at this rate and why the fuck has their friend betrayed them. But he’s pretty sure that the answer to this question will spark a chain to the rest. “Why did you pick me over him?” Unless this is it. This is the plan. Jeongin offs him after a blowjob, and no one’s any the wiser.”

“Because you’re right. He’s not my master.” Jeongin responds quickly. “I can do what I want now, and I want to do what’s right. I think that he’s worse than people like my old mast--Like the person you all saved me from.” 

Jisung is apt to agree. “How did this happen?” After all, Woojin is one of their own. One of their first. One of their best. There’s never been any hesitation, no question of loyalty until right this very second. 

"I think a lot of powerful people, people like my old master have made him a lot of promises." 

In that moment, Jisung becomes acutely aware of how hot his lips feel, in addition to being puffy, cracked and dry. He wets them with his tongue. They’re still naked, and he thinks that’s apt. The best strategies he’s ever strategized happened when he was naked and wedged between Changbin and Chan who were  _ also  _ naked. 

They’re outnumbered, two to one. That doesn’t sound like the worst of odds, but he’s never been one for math. He needs evidence. Lots of it, if he’s going to make it stick. Like pages scattered across the lawn in the wind go Jisung’s thoughts. But luckily, with his boundless energy, he has the strength and the stamina to track them back down, one by one, by one. Piecing them back together, he begins to see a plan. “How do your brothers feel? I assume that Fourth--” He imprinted on Woojin the moment he was activated. 

“I think I can get Second and Third. They love him, but Second is bound to me. Third to Minho.” 

“Okay.” 

And just like that, Jisung steals an I.N. Unit. That’s not what makes their story remarkable. All of their I.N. units are stolen. Their story is unlike Woojin’s, who knew that First murdered his master. Their story is unlike Minho’s, who saw Third covered in blood. What makes their story remarkable is that in that moment, when a bond that’s stronger than blood or the soul is made, he isn’t afraid at all to steal from someone he once considered a friend. 


End file.
